Gaal the Conqueror (6 page)

Instantly he had another impression of movement, this time
of a door closing. It was as though the door of one of the
houses had been slightly ajar, but had quietly closed. His heart
began to beat a little faster. Something about the village was
unnerving him. And it was then he noticed the teen-agers.
Where they had come from he had no idea. They formed a
large group, most of them around his own age, and were playing with a ball the size of a basketball.

Their game was anything but exciting. They stood in a circle
and threw the ball to one another. Nobody spoke. The expressions on their faces never changed. It was as though they were
playing in their sleep. However, one of them must have caught sight of him, for in an instant the ball was dropped and all of
them turned to face him, staring at him with unseeing eyes.
Once he had removed the Mashal Stone he had felt shaken by
his experience inside the circular shrine, and now in addition
he was unnerved by the odd behavior of the children. Nevertheless, he forced himself to ask about Eleanor.

"Hi!" John said.

No one moved or spoke. John tried again. "Hi-I'm John the
S-I mean my name's John. I'm not from around here. I'm
looking for a young girl called Eleanor. I think she's lost. Did
any of you see her?"

Still there was no response. They did not look angry or hostile, but there was something unnerving about the way they
stared without moving. Nevertheless he decided to walk toward
them. Perhaps they didn't understand English. Would signs
help? How did you talk about a lost girl in sign language?

The moment he moved they all began to walk toward him.
They walked slowly and deliberately, every one of them in step,
like puppets controlled by a skilled puppeteer. For a moment
he hesitated. Then he continued. Soon they were standing in
a strange and solemn semicircle round him. The girls wore
rough gray dresses, and the boys were dressed as he was (minus
the cloak) except that their clothes, like the girls' clothes, were
gray. How could he make them understand? He remembered
a book he had read about explorers traveling among tribes
people.

Smiling idiotically, and pointing with both hands at his chest
he said, "Boy. John." They made no response. The line of their
semicircle was lengthening. They seemed to be surrounding
him. He tried to smile more pleasingly, grinning as broadly as
he could. "Boy. John!"

He pointed to three of the girls one at a time, still grinning
and saying as he pointed to each one, "Girl," then again at
himself, "Boy." By now it was clear that the circle was complete. As they closed him in their blank faces still stared at him like
faces of mechanical dolls.

In the village beyond, the doors of the cottages opened and
little groups of gray-clad men, women and smaller children
were emerging to move toward him, everyone of them staring
blankly at him.

In a desperate effort to get through to the members of the
circle surrounding him he raised his voice, almost shouting his
repeated formula, "John, boy. Girl."

The members of the circle took a simultaneous pace toward
him so that the circle grew smaller. John's grin froze. He raised
his right hand to his throat in a vague gesture of fear and as
he did so his hand brushed against the hard surface of the
Mashal Stone. Gently he withdrew it from the pocket. Just let
them take one more step toward him, and he would put the
chain around his neck. It had always worked when he was here
last time, though it had seemed to be powerless in Canada. It
was time to act. Quickly he slipped the chain around his neck.

It worked. He was invisible again-and oh, so comforted!
There was nothing but space where his own body and limbs
had been. He glanced up to see that their arms had swung level
with their shoulders, their fingers and hands reaching out toward him as they moved gropingly toward the spot where he
stood.

Instinctively he dropped to his hands and knees and began
to crawl toward the children on the side nearest the woods.
Their movements were slow and uncertain, and strange
thoughts began to flash through his mind. They did not seem
to be dismayed by his disappearance. Had they seen him in the
first place? Or were they in fact sleepwalking?

He watched the knees and feet of the two boys between
which he planned to burst out. And then, putting into practice
the strange tackle he had to learn for Canadian football, he
hurled himself at their knees. They fell limply on top of him, but he shook them off before they had time to think and was
on his feet, ready to run like a deer to the path from which he
had emerged. But before he had gone two paces he checked
himself in dismay. A line of gray-clad men stood waiting for
him, their arms outstretched and reaching out for him. Other
men and women were streaming in his direction, some on his
right, some on his left, all with outstretched arms. As he glanced
over his shoulder he saw that the boys and girls who had
formed the circle were coming after him in unison.

Were they all hypnotized? What was wrong with them? He
glanced at the temple and to his dismay saw that the old man
with the skull cap was standing in the sunshine. He was certainly not sleepwalking like the rest of them appeared to be. His
bearing was alert and his movements purposeful. But they were
strange movements. As he glanced from one group of the villagers to another the fingers of his hands moved in strange
configurations, as though he were playing an invisible musical
instrument or manipulating invisible puppets.

Puppets? John caught his breath. Was that it? Were all the
people puppets, and was the man in black magically controlling
their movements? It was plain that he could not see John, but
was there some other way in which he could sense his presence? He checked the wave of panic that threatened to engulf
him, and turned toward the people on his right. His invisibility
was helping, but it was by no means an absolute protection. It
was almost as though they could discern him through the tips
of their fingers. On the right the line was thinner, and he
began to walk rapidly in that direction watching the line carefully, ready to rush and dodge if need be. Twenty yards beyond
the moving men and women were the jade-green waters of the
fjord, and if need be he would swim to get away.

The larger circle that now surrounded him was slowly closing. And something else was happening. A voice, like the rich
deep voice of a good radio announcer, sounded inside his left ear. "Don't run away. We want to get to know you. You have
seen the whirlpool in the temple. We like you, John Wilson."

Was that the voice of the white-haired puppeteer? "No you
don't," he shouted, his heart now racing. "Get out of my way!
I don't belong here!"

"I love you, John Wilson. Stay with us. We want to make you
happy. You have seen the whirlpool, and you have perceived
its hidden peril."

The voice was louder now, and his steps were slowing. His
limbs felt heavy. He placed his invisible hands over his invisible
ears to cut it out. He stumbled unsteadily. It felt strange to hear
the name John Wilson again, for it was a name he once thought
was his. How did the voice know?

Again it sounded, "Don't run, John Wilson. We want to make
you happy, happy, happy, HAPPY..." Steadily the sound increased, and as it did his limbs grew steadily weaker.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" he shouted in return, not caring
now whether the people heard him or not. His mind was confused, but he knew he was now three paces in front of the line
of moving men and, weaving wildly and uncertainly, he
plunged between two of them, the groping fingers barely missing him. His mind stopped working. He was only conscious of
the repeated, "HAPPY! HAPPY! HAPPY!" ringing shrilly and
incessantly through his brain and body.

He crawled toward the water that lay only yards ahead. He
had to get into it. He was not clear why. He only knew that he
had to. Blindly and desperately he crawled, rose, stumbled, fell
and crawled again, while the never-ending voices screeched
their message of love. Only five yards now. Four. Three. Two.
A hand grabbed his foot. He screamed, summoned his remaining strength, and kicked as hard as he could.

He was free. Before he could tell what was happening he
slipped and slithered down a sloping rocky shelf and tumbled
helplessly over the edge of it into deep water. He sank in shock ingly icy water, and in total silence. The voices had gone. His
strength and energy began to return, and he could think again.
He struggled against the weight.of his boots and his sword, to
the surface. On shore the men and women had turned around
and were drifting back toward the village, their arms hanging
loosely at their sides.

It was difficult to tread water, but for lifesaving practice he
had often swum fair distances carrying a moderately heavy rock
on his chest, and he did not want to get rid of anything until
he had to. Carefully he watched the retreating people in gray.
Darkness was falling.

He glanced to his right where the trees came down to the
water. He would swim ashore there. But then he saw a man
standing by the shore under the trees, staring intently into the
water, staring in fact at John. "It can't be!" he muttered to
himself. "I'm invisible. How can he see me?"

Then he realized the man on the bank was staring at the
disturbance of the water. Carefully he tried to make as little
movement as possible. But it was difficult. He was tired and
cold, and the weight of his boots and sword still pulled him
down.

"Is that you, Sword Bearer?" The words came clearly across
the calm water. "Is that you in the water?"

Was the man friend or foe? He decided to call out, knowing
he would have to leave the water soon. "Who are you? And
what do you want?" He seemed to be a young man. Even in the
dusk John could see that his hair was blond.

"Pontificater sent me. My name is Authentio, son of the widow Illith, who is a servant of Gaal," he called. "Have no fear,
Sword Bearer." John began to swim toward the shore. It was a
risk he would have to take. Authentio continued to call out to
him. "Pontificater told me you were following the path to the
village. He feared for you. The village is a place of danger for
Shagah is there."

There was a pause as John snatched the Mashal Stone from
around his neck and began to wade for the last yard or so. The
young man stepped into the water to assist him. "That's better.
I can see you now. Here, let me help you," he said.

"Who's Shagah?" John asked.

"Shagah is the most powerful sorcerer in Anthropos, and the
servant of the Circle. You must come with me to the dragon's
cave. There is a fire there and hot food for you."

John said nothing. He was bitterly cold. Something about the
way the young man spoke reassured him, but the thought of
seeing the dragon again made him uncomfortable. He was
weary, cold and hungry, and the thought of a fire and hot food
was attractive. He had lost his concern over the dog, assuming
that it was dead by now.

"Why did they stop coming after me?"

"Because you were in the water. It's salt water, you know."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Magic stops when it comes against salt water. It gets hopelessly confused. At least Shagah's kind of magic does."

It did not take them long to reach the cave. Dripping and
shivering, John followed Authentio uphill through the woods,
until the exercise warmed them a little. Eventually their trail
became extremely precipitous, crossing a rock face above the
fjord until they stumbled on to sand and gravel at the entrance
of a cave on the cliff face. The cave was huge. John stumbled
inside, to see the dragon by an enormous, roaring fire whose
smoke ascended through a crack in the cave roof far above
them. An iron pot was suspended above the clambering flames.

John had grown so weary that he never remembered clearly
what happened afterward. But within an hour he was sleeping,
warm, dry and fed, on a comfortable bed of clean straw.